


Comfort

by Viking_woman



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Modern AU, Possessiveness, Sub Solas, Vampire AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 07:53:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13876488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viking_woman/pseuds/Viking_woman
Summary: Solas is morosely drinking away at a loud bar when a beautiful woman entices him to a dance.A Solavellan Vampire AU.





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> A very long time ago, someone (I have forgotten who) asked me how I would feel about a vampire!AU Solavellan prompt. No way, I said. 
> 
> Well, apparently that was a lie. 
> 
> This is technically a crossover with the BtVS comics, if you squint, but you don’t need to know anything about them, other than vampires are known to the public.

The music is loud, pounding and moving like a giant beast unfurling itself within the club. Taking hold of everyone, digging claws into their bodies and sweeping them up. It isn’t his kind of place, not anymore. Yet he is here. There is a certain anonymity here, a singular focus of the music and drink and dancing and bodies. He can almost hide from his own thoughts.

He motions for another drink. The bar stools next to him are empty, most people come here to dance, or fuck. It’s too loud for any meaningful conversation.

There are three people working behind the bar, all of them making cheap drinks as fast as they can. One elf and two dwarves. The male dwarf is tattooed and sweating profusely. He wipes his brow and passes Solas his drink. Solas nods in thanks. The drink is sweet enough to mask the cheap booze, and he drinks deeply. Too fast, probably, but that is the point. He has nothing to do, nowhere to go. His plans succeeded and failed all at once. He can’t go back.

He downs the rest of his drink and motions for his next. He has lost count. Closing his eyes, he lets the music consume him, pretending there is no tomorrow, no disastrous future.

"Brooding alone?” someone asks. A woman, an elf, leans on the bar next to him. Her red hair is up in a ponytail, displaying the tawny skin on her muscular back. She is wearing a shimmering white dress, only a scrap of fabric covering her back.

“I am just here to enjoy a drink in peace,” he replies.

She laughs, eyes sparkling and lighting up her face. Her lips are painted bold red, and he notices her vallaslin, a dull olive covering the right side of her face. Dalish, then. Not many clans do that anymore.

“No one comes here to drink in peace.” 

“Iwyn Lavellan.” She holds out her hand, and he has to take it, bringing it to his lips in a kiss. Later, he blames the alcohol, or her sparkling the eyes, or the way the dress barely covers her ass.

“Solas. Pleased to meet you.”

“So, Solas, how do you feel about dancing?” She grins, keeping her hand in his but moving away from the bar. She intends to pull him along, and he lets her. It has been a long time since he has danced, but the rhythm consumes him, the touch of her hand awakens him. He didn’t come here for this, but the beast is hungry, and Iwyn Lavellan is beautiful. 

The push of bodies is constant here, and soon he finds himself pressed against her, her hands roaming over him. Her eyes, brightly reflecting the strobe lights, draw him closer, and he grips her in turn.  He slides his hands over her dress, the beads rough against his hands, his fingers skimming her thighs where the dress ends. It is so short, and he wants to push his hands under it, to feel more of her skin, more of her. She smiles, touching him and he forgets he came here to drink and watch and be alone in the noise. His mind tugged in a different direction all together.

“Stop thinking,” she says, and her lips graze his neck. He shudders against her. How long time has it been since he has allowed himself to enjoy something? He finds himself hard as she moves with him, with the music, with the wild power contained within. She doesn’t mind at all.

The music changes its pace, calms, and she pulls him to the bar. The elf woman nods at her, and almost instantly Iwyn has two drinks in her hand. No wait. He knows what type of people who comes here regularly, and he ignores it. It doesn’t matter. He follows her up the metal stairs, her hips swaying in front of him.

The upstairs is dark, the orange paper lanterns strung across the balcony not illuminating the shadowed corners.

Their drinks are quickly forgotten. He wants her, and she pushes him against the wall, her lips demanding against his. He lets himself be swept along, releasing the tension inside of him. Focusing of the feel of her, marveling at her interest, her attention. When was the last time anyone cared? All he feels is her, her hands between them, stroking him. He groans, and then he spins her, his turn to press her against the wall, to slide his hands under her skirt when she wraps her leg around him.

He is lost in her skin when her head snaps up, and her gaze meets three posturing youths coming up the stairs. 

“Don’t you think you should leave the pretty lady to us, loser?” one of them says, flexing his fist. Solas turns slowly. He sighs. He rolls up his sleeves.

 “You’re going to fight us?” The leader sneers. One of his cronies, a huge man with very little neck, laughs. The men have advanced all the way across the balcony, causing a few other partiers to quickly exit down the stairs.

Iwyn puts a hand on his arm and gives him a small smile. She pins the leader with her flickering eyes.

“Do you think you can handle me?” She takes a few measured steps forward, her gold heels clicking on the floor. The leader stays put, but the other two take a step back. She walks right up to him, her eyes never leaving his. Solas leans back against the wall. She moves with a riveting grace and strength, a predator stalking her prey. The power in her takes his breath away.

“I can handle you better than that boring guy.” He juts out his chin and tries to loom over her. It doesn’t work. Iwyn smiles, and it is nothing like the smiles she has offered Solas.

 “He is infinitely more interesting than you will ever be, boy.” She advances, and the man steps back. “Get lost.”

 The man falters, and mumbles something, and him and his cronies turn and leave, hurriedly.

 Iwyn returns to him, her eyes still ablaze. She kisses his lips lightly, softly.

 “I hope you don’t mind I took care of them. I have no doubt of your ability to defend yourself.” She kisses his knuckles, and he shakes his head. He doesn’t mind at all.

 “I also mean it,” she says, running her hand down his shoulder. “I would love to get to know you better, Solas.” Her gesture, her touch is soothing and too familiar, closer to caring than enticing. He wants more. Maybe he should be worried about how she scared away those guys, but mostly it made him feel wanted. Desired. His cheeks burn.

 “Do you want to go to my place?” he blurts out before he regrets it.

 “I would love to. Let’s get out of here.”

 

 --

 

Solas unlocks the door and steps inside his flat. The walk was short and pleasant, only interrupted by kisses that could not wait. Her lips have supplanted the music in his blood, and he yearns for them already. He turns and put his arm around Iwyn’s back, drawing her close. 

“Come inside, please.” 

She lets him propel her forward, and once inside she turns to him, and he find himself shoved against a wall. She kisses him with the same hunger she has in her eyes. Soft and hard and wonderful. 

“You should be careful who you invite into your home, Solas.” Her teeth scrape his jaw.

“I know.” He is not sure if he knows she will not harm him, or if he just doesn’t care. He shrugs off her coat. “Bed. Down the hall to the left.”

By the time they reach his bedroom, his shirt is off, and his pants are open. Iwyn pushes him down on his bed, and climbs on top on him, her knees resting on either side of his legs. The moon reflects off her dress, white on white, ethereal. It is not a dream. 

“Your dress,” he says. “It is very pretty.”

She smiles, her hands sliding across his chest, down between his legs.

“It needs off. Please.”

His hips are lifting up, his erection pushing against her hand. Her touch is agony and bliss and then they are gone. She reaches behind her neck and undoes a clasp. The halter top of her dress slides down, and his hands come up to caress her breasts. She moans and grinds herself into him when he flicks his thumbs over her nipples. 

“There is a zipper,” she says, and his hands come around her back and find the small thing at the swell of her ass. When he has undone it, she stands, the dress sliding down, a pool of light at her feet. She pulls off his pants. She kicks off her heels.

 Naked, finally, his skin sings where it touches hers. She climbs on top of him, and she guides his cock inside of her. She moans and he shudders and they move, an evening of foreplay caught in the sheets. Her wetness surrounds him, consumes him. She leans over him and holds his arms, his wrists anchored at his shoulders. She is strong, and he can’t move and it makes him frantic with need. It feels right and good, someone cares enough to hold him down and there is no doubt. She wants him, and she fucks him.

Her lips catch his, and then her mouth wanders down his jaw, gently sucking at his throat, a light nip of her teeth.

“Can I?” she asks, and he knows, just like he knew all along what his answer would be.

“Yes. Please.”

He is desperate for more of her, for all of her. She growls and his cock pulses inside of her. He can feel her face change against his neck, hard ridges pressed against his jaw.

“I’ve got you,” she mumbles and then her fangs pierce his throat. He jerks against her in pain, but then it is gone, replaced by ecstasy flowing through his body, burning from his neck down to the tightening of his balls. He surrenders to everything she offers, gives everything she wants to take. He comes, hard and long.

The world is hazy and soft. She licks his throat and hums and kisses his lips. She has let go of his wrists and his arms are around her. The moon is lost, and her green eyes are the only light in the room. He wonders if he will see them again. She smiles and nuzzles her head against his shoulder.

“Sleep,” she says. “It’s all right.”

His body is heavy, too pleased to get up, or to talk. He sinks into the bed, with her.

  

\--

 

She wakes in a foreign bed, a warm body next to her. Solas. His hand is caressing her hip, large and warm. It is comforting, almost normal.

“Good morning,” he mumbles, a low rumble of his soothing voice.

“Good morning,” she replies. She did not intend to stay. She usually doesn’t, the risk is too great. Nowadays, most people have a good idea how to kill a vampire, or knows some place to call. This feels careless and lucky. It feels right, his hands heavy against her skin.  He presses a kiss to her shoulder.

“I am glad to find you still in my bed,” he says. He expected her to leave. She supposes it is not a strange expectation. 

“I like your bed,” she replies. Her eyes fall on the patch of sunlight hitting the old drawer in the corner. “It is day. I am afraid you will be stuck with me a bit.” He might not want her here, she realizes. Anyone human would be expected to leave before it gets too late, and she looks away from him, eyes on the ceiling. “I mean, I don’t mean to intrude. I can figure something out if – “

“It’s fine. I’d like you to say.”

“Oh.” Her heart beat uselessly in her chest.  His eyes are kind, and his lips soft. They kiss, slow and comforting, like his hands. It has been long since she has felt this relaxed. 

“Do you want breakfast?” he asks.

“Yes.” She flushes at her eagerness. She is hungry, and she knows it reflects in her eyes. She is hungry for him, for every part of him. She needs to know. “You should eat first though, for your health.”

“Of course,” he says and smirks, turning his head. The red scabs from last night are dark on his pale neck. Oh. He knew exactly what he offered.

She wants to know about the stacks of arcane books by his nightstand. She wants to know about the painting easel she glimpsed last night. She wants the bruises on his neck to never fade.

She licks her lips.

**Author's Note:**

> [Inspiration for Iwyn's dress](https://iwyn-lavellan.tumblr.com/post/170155229028)  
>  I believe it is Versace, and the real dress is floor length. This version is short ;)


End file.
